


A Christmas Wish

by webcricket



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 19:17:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8932030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket
Summary: Pure unadulterated one-shot Christmas fluff featuring you and your favorite angel (and those lovable Winchester brothers) that originally began as a short imagine about decorating a tree and then took on a life of its own.





	

“Is that my sewing kit?” Dean hovered behind your chair, hands idly stuffed in his jean pockets.

“Is it? I dunno, found it in the bathroom next to the first aid kit,” you shrugged, stringing another piece of popcorn onto the thread.

“You know, that’s my good suture needle,” he angled closer, snatching a handful of popcorn from the bowl and stuffing his mouth, screwing up his face in displeasure, “what the hell? And why does this popcorn suck?”

“Garland, for the tree,” you held up the long strand of popcorn proudly, “unsalted popcorn keeps better.” You swiveled in the chair, furrowing your eyebrows at him, “Wait, do you actually have a bad suture needle? Like for when Sam is getting on your nerves but needs stitching up?”

“No,” he guiltily turned away, leaning against the edge of the table, shoving his hands back in his pockets, a mischievous twinkle forming in his green eyes, smirking, “maybe.” He cleared his throat, “Uh, what tree?”

“The one in the library,” you grinned, returning your focus to the task of stringing popcorn, “speaking of which, can you go see if Cas needs help? He was having a heck of a time grasping the concept of a tree skirt.”

“The tree wears a skirt?” He arched an eyebrow, lip curling up in confusion.

“Oh for the love of Chuck,” you vehemently shook your head, “you’re a grown ass man, figure it out. I absolutely refuse to explain so simple a concept to you or a billion some odd year old angel of the lord.”

“Right,” Dean held up his hands defensively, backing slowly out of the room, “Cas, library, tree, skirt.” He ducked hastily from your sight.

Sam entered the kitchen, laughter in his tone, “Heh, hey Y/N. What was Dean all up in arms about?”

“You know,” you flashed the younger Winchester a smile, “the usual.”

“So, nothing?” Sam returned your smile, curiosity in his eyes as he approached the table and studied your mess, “is that garland?”

“Yes it is,” you tied off a final knot at the end of the thread and jumped to your feet, carefully winding the ropes of garland into a large loop to keep it from tangling, “finally, a man after my own heart!”

Sam surreptitiously peered over his shoulder to ensure the hall was empty, “I thought that was Cas?”

“Shut your mouth, you,” you softly punched him in the shoulder, cheeks flushing, “you promised never to repeat my drunken confessions. Besides, it’s just teasing since he doesn’t feel the same way about me. And anyway, I’m talking about trimming a tree. Christmas spirit and all.”

“We have a tree?” Sam’s eyes lit up with excitement.

You nodded enthusiastically, “Cas and I found one this morning. I couldn’t sleep last night and I was telling him about my Christmas traditions growing up and how I missed that feeling of family. We always put up and decorated a tree Christmas eve and spent the evening around it, together.”

Sam’s smile grew, “You know, for a guy who supposedly doesn’t feel the same way about you, he sure spends an awful lot of time doing stuff to make you happy.”

Your eyes narrowed, tone vaguely threatening, “You know, you Winchesters talk too much.”

“Just an observation,” Sam widened his arms apologetically, “what can I do to help with the tree?”

The timer on the oven buzzed loudly, and you pointed, “You can pull those sugar cookies out of the oven to cool and then meet us in the library to finish making and putting up ornaments.”

“On it,” Sam grabbed a towel and popped open the oven door.

The smell of warm cookies wafted after you as you meandered down the hall toward the library, humming the tune to _O Holy Night_.

“Dean, this is not amusing,” Cas’ baritone words floated through the doorway as you approached, “this is an important holiday tradition for Y/N and you should take it seriously.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, the tree looks great,” Dean argued, tone cocky, “this skirt really shows off her figure. Her, it? Do trees have a gender?”

You ceased humming, pausing a few feet outside the door to eavesdrop.

“The Google said the skirt goes under the tree,” Cas lamented.

You could envision the eye roll Cas gave Dean just then, and covered your mouth to stifle laughter.

“Yeah, and what does,” Dean mockingly made air quotes, “the Google say about trees and gender.”

You sighed audibly, dropping your head against the hall wall and shouting at the ceiling, “Dean Scroogechester, I swear if I come in there and that skirt is not where it belongs you’re going to learn the real meaning of bah humbug.”

There was a sudden clamor, shuffling, and Dean cursing under his breath, “Go, distract her. Yeah Cas, now would be a good time.”

Cas emerged from the doorway, blue eyes flitting distractedly back over his shoulder as Dean struggled to remove the skirt from the middle tree branches.

“How’s it going in there?” You reached out to pick a stray pine needle from the angel’s hair, hand falling to allow your fingers to linger on his shoulder.

His eyes followed your movements, then lifted to meet your gaze, “I made 17 paper snowflake ornaments like you showed me. Like real snowflakes, each is unique.”

“Thanks for helping me do all of this Cas, it means a lot to me,” you squeezed his shoulder, absentmindedly straightening his coat lapel.

He smiled warmly, blue eyes gleaming, “Of course Y/N, you’re welcome.”

Sam coughed behind you, smiling innocently, “Y/N, don’t you think this doorway is missing something? Maybe some mistletoe?” He winked with a sly smile.

You scowled at him as he slipped past you and Cas.

Cas watched Sam walk into the library to determine if he was still required to distract you.

In answer to his wordless inquiry, the muffled sound of the brothers bickering as Sam scolded Dean drifted to your ears from the room.

Cas’ bright blue eyes were on you again, “What was the song you were humming before?” He tilted his head askance, “It has a beautiful tune.”

“Hmm? Oh, O Holy Night,” you felt your cheeks burning hot under his intense regard, “it’s one of my favorite Christmas songs.”

“Will you sing it for me?” He continued to maintain unwavering eye contact.

You looked away shyly, “My voice isn’t…”

He interjected, “Your voice is beautiful.”

You were definitely blushing now, “But Cas, I don’t think you’ve ever heard me sing.”

“You sing in the shower all the time,” he stated matter-of-factly.

You could only blink silently at him, completely nonplussed by his statement.

He fidgeted uneasily under your gaze, eyes darting to the floor, “I’m sorry, Dean said I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

“It’s okay Cas,” your fingers were squeezing his shoulder again, “thank you for the compliment.”

He gulped hard, eyes fluttering back to yours, nodding once.

“O holy night,” you inhaled nervously and began to sing, “the stars are brightly shining, it is the night, of our dear savior’s birth.”

Cas squinted, crinkling his nose.

The words caught in your throat as you noted his bewildered expression, “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t understand. It wasn’t night when the savior was born, the stars weren’t brightly shining at all, it was an overcast early morning,” he offered in explanation.

“Cas?” You raised an eyebrow, “were you actually there?”

He clenched his jaw, shaking his head, “Well, no, but my brother Gabriel told me of the event. The announcement was assigned to him.”

“I see, and historically speaking Gabe’s been a very reliable source of information,” you said sarcastically, pressing your lips into a thin smile, “let’s call it artistic liberty. Either on the part of your brother, or the song writer.”

“I won’t interrupt again. Please continue,” his features softened.

“Long lay the world, in sin and error pining, till he appeared, and the soul felt its worth,” you continued, voice booming louder, encouraged by the sparkle in Cas’ eyes, “a thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices, for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn. Fall on your knees, o hear the angel voices.”

“Sounds about right,” Dean appeared and clapped Cas on the shoulder, “right Cas?” He gestured a thumb toward the angel, “He tried to talk to me a few times before he had a vessel - brought me to my knees and damn near blew out my eardrums.” He glared accusingly at Cas, “I notice they left that part out of the song.” Dean plastered on a fake smile, “Good times. Come on you turtle doves, the lights are up and Sam says the garland has to go up before ornaments.” Dean grabbed you by the elbow and led you into the library, Cas following on your heels with a baffled countenance.

“Well, yeah, garland is next. I’m glad at least one of the wise men showed up to help,” you acknowledged Sam’s well-executed hanging of the lights with a nod, offering him the popcorn garland and turning to face the angel, “hey Cas, did Gabe mention anything about a donkey that night?”

“Yes, there were several types of livestock present,” Cas offered helpfully, “why do you ask?”

“Because now, despite being a total jackass, Dean is welcome to stay and decorate,” you said, sticking your tongue out at Dean.

Dean pursed his lips in mock offense, “Who does that make you then, the virgin Mary?”

You glowered at him for a moment before you both doubled over, dissolving into a fit laughter.

One by one, the make-shift ornaments adorned the tree – Cas’ delicate paper snowflakes, your collection of pine-cones you’d picked up on a walk with the angel in the fall, a set of ninja throwing stars Dean found while cataloging the Men of Letters objects months ago, and an assortment of colorful origami animals none of you knew until that night that Sam knew how to make. Atop the tree, after chiding you for being careless and healing the slices on your fingers from the sharp metal edges, Cas placed the shining star you’d cut from a sheet of aluminum.

You now sat cross-legged under the tree in the dark, eagerly waiting for Sam to turn on the tree lights, “Cas, come here, sit down, this is the best part.” You grasped at the hem of his coat, tugging him down to your side.

He sat beside you, awkwardly crossing his legs, gazing not at the tree, but at your glistening eyes, attentive only to the profound joy that flooded over your features when the tree lights blinked on, his own smile radiating your pure delight.

The moment did not go unnoticed by Sam and Dean, the brothers exchanging a knowing look.

“Guys, it’s perfect!” You exclaimed, sharing happy grins with the brothers, then spinning to Cas and throwing your arms around his neck, nearly knocking him off balance.

For once, the angel did not hesitate to return your embrace.

You angled your lips closer to his ear, so moved with happiness that tears threatened to overflow your eyelids, “Thank you so much for this Cas.”

“Hey, who wants homemade eggnog, extra nog?” Dean waggled his eyebrows and grinned.

“Do you even know how to make eggnog?” Sam scrunched his nose skeptically.

“Do I even,” Dean huffed, “you just grab the good bourbon, meet me in the kitchen, and let me show you how it’s done.”

“We’ll see,” Sam headed toward the map room to get the bourbon.

You released Cas, wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands.

“Eggnog sounds fantastic Dean,” you sniffled, still grinning ear to ear.

“Coming right up,” Dean hustled from the room.

“Y/N, I understand why you are smiling, but I don’t understand why you are crying,” Cas reached up to wipe a stray tear from your chin with his thumb.

You reached for his hand, clasping it between both of yours, “They’re good tears Cas, it just means I’m really really happy.”

“Good tears?” He murmured, contemplating your hands around his, “Humans never cease to surprise me.”

You exhaled with a light laugh, “Must be that’s why you stick around, huh?”

His lips moved to formulate a reply, but you continued speaking.

“I almost forgot to tell you about Christmas wishes,” you peered back at the tree, eyes bouncing over the ornaments and settling on the star, “one wish every Christmas eve. And it can be the same one year after year until it comes true.” You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, silently wishing the angel would return the romantic affection you felt toward him.

“What did you wish for?” Cas gazed at you intently.

“It’s against the rules of wishing to say what you wished for,” you grinned at the angel, playfully shoving him in the chest.

“I understand,” inwardly he thought the concept of wishing was a silly form of magical thinking, but he could not bring himself to say so to you in light of how pleased you seemed with the idea, “I hope your wish comes true.”

“Me too,” you dropped his warm hand, “gosh, I still have to decorate the cookies!” You sprang to your feet, “The more the merrier.”

“I’ve never decorated cookies,” Cas confessed sadly, pushing to his feet.

“You’d never made paper snowflakes before today either,” your hand sought out his again, fingers entwining, leading him toward the kitchen, “I’ll show you.”

“Needs more bourbon,” Dean’s voice emanated from the kitchen.

“You used half the bottle already,” Sam disagreed.

“Exactly, there’s still half a bottle,” Dean retorted.

You reluctantly let go of Cas’ hand as you entered the kitchen, not wanting Sam and Dean to have fodder for teasing you later. You watched with amusement as Dean dumped most of the rest of the bottle of bourbon into the bowl and then downed the last shot from the bottle directly.

Cas paused at the threshold, a disappointed frown briefly flashing across his mouth as he flexed his now empty palm.

“How’s it going, Paula Deen,” you snuck up behind Dean, reaching around to stick a finger into the eggnog, unable to help but cough at the strong taste of liquor.

“Good, am I right?” Dean bobbed his head proudly.

“Right,” you squeaked, throat on fire.

Dean ladled out four cups, passing the first to Cas.

Cas sniffed the drink and narrowed his eyes. Bringing the glass to his lips, he gulped it in one go, returning the empty glass to the counter.

“Well, the angel likes it,” Dean bragged, staring Sam expectantly.

Sam took a small sip, wincing and exhaling sharply, “I don’t think it’s supposed to hurt when you drink it.”

“That’s how you know it’s working, like exercise,” Dean took a sip from his own glass, gasped, and beat his chest with a fist, “yep. Feel the burn.”

Cas refilled his glass, again drinking it in one long swig.

“Slow down Cas,” you took the empty glass from his hand, “I thought you were helping me with the cookies?”

“Alcohol does not affect me like it does,” Cas hiccuped, blinking a couple of times in surprise, “humans.”

“Uh huh,” you suspiciously glared at Dean.

Dean shrugged apathetically, “Maybe it’s the secret ingredient.”

Your eyes shifted to Sam in search of an explanation.

Sam searched for escape from your scrutiny in his eggnog.

“This eggnog is very good,” Cas downed half of your glass before you could wrestle it from his hands.

“Alright, cookie time,” you held the glass out of reach behind your back, “You boys scram, and take the nog with you.”

Cas positioned himself to leave with Sam and Dean.

You grabbed him by the coat collar, “Not so fast, angel.” You aimed him at the table and kicked out a chair, “Sit.”

He sat as ordered, staring up at you with moon eyes, head bobbing unsteadily as he watched you cross the kitchen to grab the trays of cooled cookies and move them to the table. On another empty tray, you loaded up pre-filled icing bags and an assortment of sprinkles. Finally, you pulled a large plate from the cupboard and set it at the end of the table.

“We’re decorating cookies to leave out for Santa,” you removed a star-shaped cookie from the tray and traced the outline in white frosting. You made a crisscross pattern in the middle with blue frosting, then shook glittering white sprinkles over the top. You held the cookie up for Cas to examine, “You can do any pattern you like, okay?”

He squinted at your work, nodding, “Okay.” He clumsily reaching for a round wreath cut-out and the red frosting.

You shook your head, grabbing a gingerbread cut-out, wondering exactly what Dean put in the eggnog.

Cas began to uncharacteristically chuckle to himself.

You glanced over to discover a dopey smile on his face as he held up the cookie he’d decorated for you to see. It was an intricately drawn devil’s trap dusted in red glitter.

“That’s, uh, different,” you sighed, trying to hide your annoyance.

“Do you think Santa will like it?” Cas asked seriously.

“Sure, who wouldn’t like an edible pocket-sized devil’s trap?” You couldn’t help but smile at the goofy acting angel.

He proudly placed his cookie on the plate next to your star, rubbed his hands furiously together, and reached for another wreath cut-out. Looking over his shoulder, he leaned toward you, voice quiet, “Do you want to know what is better than one edible pocket-sized devil’s trap?”

You lifted your eyebrows, cringing because you were afraid you already knew the answer, “What’s that?”

“Two,” he sniggered, taking up the white frosting. He suddenly stilled, eyes popping wide, “Unless of course the demon eats the trap. I wonder how that would work. We should summon Crowley to find out.” He popped up out of the chair.

“Not happening,” you grabbed his sleeve, tugging him back to a seated position.

Working side by side in silence, the plate was soon full of festive stars, gingerbread men, trees, and devil’s traps.

“I’m going to bring these to the library,” you pushed away from the table and picked up the plate, “you can keep going if you want.” You figured it might be a good way for him to sober up.

Cas glanced between you and his half-finished devil’s trap cookie, clearly suffering some internal conflict of want and impaired process of decision making. After all, an angel worth his salt never left an unfinished devil’s trap. His brow relaxed, turmoil clearing from his eyes, “I will join you when I finish this cookie.”

You swung around to the door, disappearing into the hall, then stepping backwards to look in again, “Cas?”

“Yes, Y/N?” He mumbled, twisting around in the chair to get a better look at you when you didn’t respond immediately.

You smiled, “Would you bring a glass of milk along, to go with the cookies?”

“Glass of milk, check,” he returned your smile and gave a thumbs up.

You stormed into the library, shoving the plate of cookies onto the nearest table and swatting Dean upside the head.

“Hey, what’s that for?” Dean rubbed the back of his head.

“What the hell did you do to Cas?” You planted your hands firmly on your hips.

“Gave him a little Christmas cheer?” Dean shrank away, anticipating another slap.

Sam spoke up, “Y/N, it was my idea.”

“Go on,” you tapped your foot impatiently.

“I activated the bunker’s angel warding to suppress Cas’ grace,” Sam grimaced apologetically under your stern expression, “so he’d get drunk.”

“Why?” You smacked Dean again on the back of the head since he was closest and an obvious co-conspirator.

“Ow,” Dean flinched.

“You know why Y/N,” Sam closed his book and sat upright, “we saw the way he was looking at you with stars in his eyes. I thought it’d be a good way to get him to loosen up and say something. If you’re that upset, I’ll happily go turn the warding back off.” He tossed the book on the table and abruptly left.

“Yeah, well, I guess you guys were wrong,” you pouted, shoulders slumped, ruffling Dean’s hair in apology for whacking him twice, “he obviously doesn’t feel the way I do.” Your eyes wandered to Dean’s hand hovering over the cookie plate, a blue star dangling from his fingers, “Dean, put down the cookie.”

“What? Why?” Dean refused to drop it.

“It’s for Santa,” you chided.

“Oh, trust me, you don’t want Santa to show up tonight. Pagan jackass,” Dean whined, still holding the cookie aloft, “you didn’t put up any meadowsweet, did you? And I better not find an elf on the goddamn shelf anywhere in this place,” Dean peered around the room, “those beady eyed little bastards are creepy.”

“Dean, those cookies are for Santa,” Cas’ guttural voice cut the tension. He held a glass of milk in his hand.

“Not you too, buddy,” Dean griped.

Cas placed the milk on the table beside the plate of cookies.

“Thanks Cas,” you smiled warmly.

He nodded, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a devil’s trap cookie and proffering it to Dean, “It’s an extra.”

Dean dropped the star, quirking his eyebrow, “Devil’s trap cookie? Nice!”

Cas cocked his head curiously while he watched Dean devour the cookie.

Sam slinked back into the room, curtly nodding at you to indicate everything should be back to normal.

“Well guys, just one final tradition to complete,” you walked over to the shelf nearest the tree, pulling out your dog-eared copy of Clement Clarke Moore’s _‘Twas the Night Before Christmas_ that you’d squirreled away earlier in the day, “who wants to read the poem aloud?”

Sam and Dean both looked at Cas expectantly.

Cas looked at both Sam and Dean in turn hoping one of them would volunteer. Peering back at you, he swallowed hard, “I, uh, will.”

“Great!” You extended the book to the angel, taking a seat on the floor next to the tree and reclining against the shelf.

Cas glanced at Sam and Dean apprehensively before moving to your side. He opened to the first page, clearing his throat rather dramatically as his eyes skimmed over the page.

“Cat got your tongue?” Dean teased with a smirk.

Cas glared at him darkly, clearing his throat again. “Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the,” Cas paused, eyes sweeping the room, “bunker.”

You giggled approval at the improvisation, squirming closer to the angel to read along over his shoulder.

Lips stacking into a pleased grin, Cas continued, “Not a creature was stirring, not even a baku.”

“Baku?” Dean silently mouthed the word to Sam.

“Dream devouring creature from Japanese lore,” Sam whispered, “Bobby and Rufus…”

“Know-it-all,” Dean curled his lip.

“Shh,” Cas reprimanded the brothers, “the doorways were salted to safen the lair, in hopes that demons would be kept far from there.”

Sam snorted.

You cooed sleepily, head lolling onto Cas’ shoulder, your sleepless night before forcefully catching up with you.

Sam caught Dean’s attention, gesturing between you and the angel and pointing his chin to the door to suggest they leave you two alone.

Dean took the hint, standing up with a yawn and stretching.

You were too enamored with Cas’ storytelling to notice the brothers silently take their leave.

“Winchesters were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of cheeseburgers danced in their heads. An angel in a trench coat and Y/N on the chaise, were combing through the lore to research a new case,” Cas’ voice echoed into the halls, lulling you into a deep slumber. He sensed you’d fallen into sleep and he carefully closed the book and set it aside. He studied your peaceful face, awash in the multi-colored lights of the tree, brushing a stray wisp of hair behind your ear. He smiled down at you, recalling your tale to him the night before that prompted this whole Christmas eve celebration. You told him of your favorite Christmas when you fell asleep beneath the tree, worried for your parents who had gone out into a snow storm to hunt, and woke up Christmas morning nestled among brightly colored gifts with the beaming faces of your mother and father hovering over you. He gazed up at the tree, finally understanding that Christmas wasn’t about the superficial decorations and the gifts, or even the deeply rooted traditions, although that was all fun - it was about spending meaningful time with the people you loved. He shifted his arm up and behind your neck, snuggling you closer. You reflexively draped your arm across him, nuzzling into his chest with a contented moan. Contemplating the shining silver star at the top of the tree, the angel allowed himself the absurd indulgence of a Christmas wish.

You rubbed your eyes, blinking the sleep from them. The library was still lit only by the light from the tree and the faint light from the hall, and since there were no windows to speak of, you had no idea whether you’d just dozed off for a few minutes or if it was already morning.

“Y/N,” Cas squatted over your curled up frame, placing a hand on your shoulder, “Merry Christmas.”

“Is it morning?” You sat up, finding yourself covered by Cas’ trench coat.

“It is,” Cas straightened up, offering you a hand up.

You gratefully clutched his hand, catching his coat as he effortlessly pulled you to your feet.

“Did you sleep well?” Cas accepted the coat as you held it out to him.

“Snug as a bug,” you smiled, “thanks.”

He nodded, a small smile gracing his lips. He continued to wordlessly stare at you, and although that way he had of looking right into your very soul was one of your favorite things about him, it also made your cheeks flush pink every single time.

You exhaled, realizing you’d been holding your breath, “Well, uh, I’d better, check the…” You gestured toward the hall, not really having a tangible excuse to leave, but making for the door anyway.

Cas caught you by the wrist, stopping you just as you crossed the threshold, “I fixed it.”

You stared at him in confusion, “Fixed what?”

“The doorway - what Sam said was missing,” the corner of his lip twitched into a bigger smile. He blinked, refocusing his eyes on the doorway above you.

You angled your head up, mirroring his smile, following his gaze - a bunch of mistletoe was tacked over your head. “Oh,” your tone one of both pleasant surprise and questioning.

He was already beside you - fingers grazing the small of your back, spinning you around, pliant but insistent lips capturing yours - before you could fully register what was happening.

Briefly you wondered if you were still asleep under the tree dreaming.

He broke away, concern clouding his bright blue eyes, “Was that not correct?”

You bit the inside of your lower lip, the sharp pain confirming to you this was not a dream, “Cas, that was more than correct, that was wonderful.” You enveloped him in your arms, crashing your lips back to his.

A needy growl rumbled through his chest. Shifting his hand to your neck, he pressed you firmly into to the doorjamb.

Melting against the heat of his body, you hummed approvingly into his mouth. Lungs screaming for air, you tangled your fingers into his hair, tugging his mouth from yours with a desperate gasp. You continued to gaze into his eyes, a smirk curling across your lips as you observed his lust darkened pupils.

“Y/N?” His voice was pure gravel. He inclined his forehead to rest against yours, “Is it acceptable to tell someone your Christmas wish once it is granted?”

“Castiel,” you admonished, brushing your nose to his, ghosting your lips over the corner of his mouth, “did you read my thoughts to figure out my wish?”

He shook his head slowly, peppering delicate kisses along your jaw, moving his lips to your ear, “It would seem we made the same wish.”

“Hey guys, Dean made breakfas-oh,” Sam averted his eyes sheepishly toward the ceiling when he realized his untimely interruption, “uh, sorry.”

Cas tried to take a decorous step backward, but you held him fast. You weren’t going to let a Winchester ruin this moment. Chewing your lip, you loosened the knot of the angel’s tie. Suggestively unfastening the top button of his shirt as you skimmed your fingers down his muscular chest, “Thanks Sammy, but I think Cas and I have gifts to unwrap before breakfast.”

Cas’ eyes glinted with understanding, scooping you up into his arms. “Don’t wait on us,” he gave Sam a cordial nod and exaggerated wink before whisking you away down the hall.

You giggled, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your nose into his neck, softly murmuring, “Merry Christmas, my angel.”


End file.
